


THE HOMECOMING QUEEN'S GOT A GUN!

by fensandmarshes



Series: last night's clothes and tomorrow's dreams 'verse [7]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Gen, Mistakes have been made, Weapons of Mass Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22888618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fensandmarshes/pseuds/fensandmarshes
Summary: “I have many very large guns,” Wade says smugly. “Do not fucking test me.”Or: The "remove all your weapons. No, Wade, ALL your weapons" trope.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Wade Wilson
Series: last night's clothes and tomorrow's dreams 'verse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535831
Comments: 17
Kudos: 87





	THE HOMECOMING QUEEN'S GOT A GUN!

**Author's Note:**

> dug this out of my drafts and said "fuck it, let's post". my beta [supinetothestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/supinetothestars) is wonderful and i owe her my life. please please for the love of god dont take this too seriously im begging you

“Alright,” Matt murmurs, drumming his fingers against his palm. The gloves of the Daredevil suit are coarse against his skin, and even the momentary stimulation draws his attention. Thanks, human brain, for not being equipped to deal with super-senses - real helpful, standing ovation, etc, etc. “I can get us in, but we need to remove any and all weapons from our persons. That includes you, Wade.”

Wade (well, there goes Matt’s New Year’s resolution of referring to people only by their vigilante aliases while in costume; he’d texted Wade about it at 3.40 AM on January 1st, somewhat drunk) makes a sad, deflated noise, no doubt accompanied by a pout (or  _ some  _ highly expressive facial movement - his mask rasps irregularly as it moves across his skin). “Can’t a guy get a secret identity ‘round here,  _ Matty _ ?”

“Those are kind of an all-or-nothing deal,” Matt grins back. No one’s around to hear; it’s the principle of the matter that’s led him to declare his resolution failed. (They’re up on some mountain and Matt has to brush his shoulders off every few minutes, because the gathering snowflakes’ presence imparts an all-too-weighty sensation that leaves him shivering.) “You snooze, you lose.”

“I like snoozing,” Wade protests.

“And I like it when you shut up for more than a moment at a time, but we can’t all get what we want. Your weapons,  _ Deadpool _ ,” Matt forces out through a smile he’s been told appears vaguely feral. “We have a tight schedule.” (The schedule factors in “technical difficulties due to dick in red suit”, but Matt has the strangest feeling that might happen more than once. And, if Wade gets his way, in more than one sense of the word.)

“Alright, asshole, calm it,” Wade fires back, emptying an assortment of pouches and squinting at some of the contents. (Is that a  _ cactus  _ Matt can smell?) “Why the - DD, did you know they still made $100 bills? I didn’t know they still made $100 bills.” 

Matt sniffs. “That’s Monopoly money.”

“Is not.”

“Is, too. You ate burritos while playing it.” 

“Aw, yeah,” Wade muses, “that would’ve been Friday. Nate came over. Broke my back, that was fun. Also somewhat Brokeback Mountai - wait, shit, actual canon already made that joke once -”

“Wade, your  _ weapons. _ ”

“wAdE yOuR wEaPoNs!!!!1!11!!! … huh, I didn’t know I could say that out loud,” Wade ponders with interest.

Matt’s pretty sure (eighty, ninety per cent) Wade is complying - there’s definitely a growing pile of assorted metal objects at his feet, and he can hear cacophony of pouches being opened and closed with the faint creak of whatever the fuck Wade’s suit is made out of, along withthe clicking and reverberating dings of buttons and buckles and suchlike. Regardless, Matt’s _pissed._ (It’s the one [1] emotion he’s okay with having, although he occasionally makes exceptions for self-flagellating guilt and momentary adrenaline rushes due to addictions to unhealthy coping mechanisms.) “What part of _tight schedule_ did you not understand?”

“Anything beyond ‘tight’?” 

(A long-suffering sighs.) “I said all your weapons, Wade,” Matt reprimands, ‘cause the metal shifts every time Wade breathes and it’s like he’s not even  _ trying  _ to hide it. “Including, uhhh -” He points to a concealed pocket at Wade’s sternum. “There.” A moment (he tilts his head, rapidly, triangulating) and a breath - “And there”, at his left thigh. No touching, none of that shit, no sirree - but his pointing finger, he’s sure, is accusatory enough to convey the “I’m not mad, just disappointed” vibe he’s going for.

“Ugh.” More shuffling; metal rasps over fabric, or vice versa. “Sooo needy, Redthew. Couldn’t you have let me know  _ beforehand _ ?”

That … that makes sense, actually. Whoops. “In my defense,” Matt returns coolly, “I, uh, I was distracted.”

“By my rockin’ hot bod?”

He huffs a laugh. “Not quite.”

“You don’t have to lie, I know I’m pretty,” Wade returns sardonically, striking a pose. “ _ Come on, vamanos; everybody, let’s go! _ ”

“Is that -”

“Does that make you Boots?”

“No!”

“So you’re the anthropomorphic purple backpack then,” Wade decides, satisfied. “I’ll take it.”

“I’m sure.” Matt turns away from Wade, trying to get the mission back on schedule before it goes totally off the rails, and paces towards the metal door in the side of the mountain. Did I forget to mention that? Yeah, probably. “You’re sure you don’t have any weapons on you.”

“Uh.” At least Wade has the grace to sound chastised. “Why?”

“‘Cause this door has mystical -” Matt grinds the word out through his teeth, the unrealistic tension in his jaw (purely for the sake of sounding irritated/skeptical/etc) worthy of Cable or the Punisher - “properties or some shit that only lets you pass if you have nothing on you that could cause harm.”

“You want me to dismember myself?”

“No, Jesus. Just drop the  _ actual weapons _ .”

“I hate your fucking villains,” Wade grumbles, pulling a wide array of knives from his boot and scattering them across the snow. Matt delicately sidesteps when one lands too close to his foot for comfort. “ _ Ooooo, I’m in a Daaaredevil comic, I’m myyystical and have magical poowers that make no sense other than a thinly veiled excuse to make fun of how many weapons Deadpool caaarries! _ ”

“Please stop.”

“Alright, alright.” Wade tosses a small knife off the edge of the cliff with as much vehement force as he can muster, which is quite a lot; it’s a good minute before Matt hears it hit the ground. “Just one more.”

Matt focuses. “I can’t sense anything.” 

“‘Course not, dipshit, this one’s SUPER hidden. I am a MASTER at hiding stuff, just you watch. I’m like Sacha Dhawan with these shocking reveals.”

“I don’t watch shit.”

“Just you listen, whatever.” 

A moment. Another. Matt fidgets, impatient. “What are you doing, Wade - uh, Deadpool?”

“Is this about your New Year’s thingy?” Wade prevaricates, sidestepping the question. “Look, if we’re being serious I give precisely zero fucks about having a secret -”

“What are you  _ doing _ ?”

“Give me one second.” A weird-ass noise that Matt really,  _ really  _ doesn’t want to think too hard about (as long as he refuses to give it words in his mind, he can pretend he didn’t happen. There are no implications here beyond ‘nasty’. None. Mind out of the gutter, you) and then Wade’s holding a -

“What the  _ fuck _ , that’s huge!”

“Don’t swear.”

“Oh, says you.”

“Get your own R rating and then we’ll talk,” Wade simpers, shouldering the - and what is it, really? All Matt can sense is a weighty, vaguely cylindrical  _ presence _ , humming faintly as the wind whispers over the metal and letting out one or two very ominous  _ clicks _ . Maybe that’s because Matt just doesn’t care much for guns - they’re all pretty much variations on the same basic “big loud metal thing makes small loud metal things go fast at Matt” concept, right? Or maybe it’s because Wade’s weapon somehow defies rational measurements. Who knows. Regardless, he tosses it off the edge of the cliff with a quiet huff of exertion - holy  _ shit,  _ how heavy is it? - and when it hits the ground far below, it shatters in an echoing chaos of spare parts and shards of metal.

“I have many very large guns,” Wade says smugly. “Do not fucking test me.”

“Your very existence is a test from God that I have yet to pass,” Matt mutters, a little fonder than he’d like. “Come on, idiot. Let’s just go.”

**Author's Note:**

> **  
>  _NO. HE DID N O T PULL IT OUT OF HIS ASS._   
>  **


End file.
